It's A Walking Dead Life
by Mrs Pepperpot
Summary: Rick Grimes is hurting and he needs help and guidance from an old friend. It might not be Christmas in The Walking Dead world but that doesn't mean you can't still get a visit from a jolly man with a white beard.


**I wanted to write a Walking Dead Christmas themed fanfic, but it was harder than I thought. The way the show ended at the mid-season finale point didn't exactly lend itself to festive merriment. I ended up crowbarring in a few seasonal references (see, It's a Wonderful Life, obviously, and maybe the merest suggestion of Love Actually), but the fic is mainly based around the brief glimpses of Rick and Carl we saw in the trailer for the rest of season 4. BTW the lines of poetry quoted are from The Faerie Queene by Edmund Spenser. There are spoilers for everything up to and including, Too Far gone, and maybe some slight nods to the comic book. I don't own anything Walking Dead related, except some Rick Grimes Pop figures and DVDs. Please R & R, I always value your comments, and I hope you enjoy reading this fic. Thank you - Mrs P.**

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It's A Walking Dead Life

Rick Grimes clenched his teeth as searing pain coursed through his body, threatening to overwhelm him. Everything hurt, and it wasn't just the physical injuries. The sadness he carried in his heart was worse. He wasn't sure he could keep going; he just knew he had to. Carl kept glancing over at him; the strain of trying to support some of his father's weight was the least of his burdens.

"If I could just rest a while," Rick mumbled.

He was so tired and couldn't even remember when he last closed his eyes, it felt like forever. His boy looked at him with a mix of concern and something else; maybe fear. They kept stumbling onwards, growing ever wearier with each heavy step. The road eventually opened out onto a small suburban community, with the kind of houses folks who earned a lot more than deputy sheriffs, might have lived in. They were either empty or occupied by the dead now, Rick hoped for the former.

"We'll try this one," He weakly pointed towards the nearest property.

The mailbox read 'The Bailey Family', and he prayed no one would be home.

Carl nodded and was ready to back his dad up.

Rick reached for his trusty Colt Python, although he knew he was dangerously low on bullets.

_"Please let it be clear."_

He whispered to himself as he mustered what little energy he had left to break the door open.

All seemed quiet, but appearances could be deceiving. They swept through the house until they were satisfied the place was empty. There weren't many walkers on the road from the prison. It had been their one saving grace, because neither father nor son was confident of their chances of survival, even if they would never have spoken their fears out loud.

"I gotta see if I can find some Advil or something," Rick winced with pain as he made for the bathroom.

"Keep watch down here, and maybe see what you can find in the kitchen," he instructed his son.

Carl nodded and kept an eye out on the front porch.

They had to break the door lock to get inside, and he didn't think his father was up to hauling any heavy furniture in an effort to barricade it. The way Rick was staggering slowly up the stairs made the boy fear he might not even make it to the top. But he did, and he used the walls to slowly propel himself onwards to reach his target. He made straight for the mirrored medicine cabinet and avoided looking directly at his beat up reflection. The tattered strands of his shirt hung open and he carefully peeled off the remains of it. He let it fall to the floor as his mind went back to the horror they had just left behind; Hershel kneeling, smiling and then the swing of the blade. Judith gone, leaving only a blood-soaked baby car-seat for them to shed their tears over.

Rick was exhausted; too tired to let out what he felt inside. His body was battered and bruised and the pain was getting unbearable. There were all kinds of filled prescriptions in the cabinet, and he would have laughed at the good fortune of stumbling upon a hypochondriac's stash, if he had either the energy or humour to appreciate it. They were probably all months out of date, and he squinted to read the labels. Rick grabbed a bottle marked, Vicodin, and choked down a couple of pills. He took one quick look at his pitiful reflection and then closed his eyes and limped away. He stumbled into the master bedroom and hunted around for a shirt that might fit. There were racks of clothes and he soon found what he needed. He flung the garment around himself and didn't bother to fumble with the fastenings. The king-size bed was calling out to him, but his son needed him more. His vision was getting blurry and he grabbed desperately at the furnishings for support.

"Carl?"

Rick whispered as loud as he dared as he reached the foot of the stairs. The boy was nowhere to be seen, and so he stumbled into the lounge area. There was a comfortable looking couch, and his head was getting fuzzier by the second. The room started to spin and he slumped down on the soft cushions.

"_I just need to take a little rest, that's all."_

He mumbled against the fabric of the couch.

Rick let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes, and the world around him faded away.

The sound of someone whistling broke through the fog in his mind. He tried to make out the tune, and he determined it to be 'Silent Night'. A long shadow loomed through the doorway and he sat up in anticipation but strangely, not fear.

"I don't know why I'm whistling a Christmas carol, I'm just a little discombobulated, I guess."

A warm familiar voice echoed through his cloudy head.

"Hershel?" Rick gasped.

"My Bethy sings that carol so beautifully; you should ask her to sing it for you sometime."

The old farmer smiled as he entered the room and took a seat next to his shocked companion.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," he chuckled at his own joke.

"I...I don't… He cut your head off. Oh God… Am I seeing things again?" Rick rubbed at his face and eyes in anxious disbelief.

"It's okay, you're not crazy. This is just a dream, that's all," Hershel reassured him.

"You never called me crazy when I was hallucinating and seeing Lori, either, but I was," the younger man frowned.

"Grief can make your mind play tricks on you. It can make you see your loved one in all the empty spaces they used to fill. I never told you this, I never told anyone; I saw my Jo, after she passed. It was only a couple of times, but it was a comfort to me, like she would always be with me, no matter what," the older man explained.

Rick let out a heavy sigh and then he began to weep, openly and unashamedly.

"I let you down. I couldn't save you. I couldn't save our home and Judith…" he sobbed.

"_For whatsoever from one place doth fall, _

_Is with the tide unto an other brought: _

_For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought." _ Hershel recited.

"They're out there, Glenn, Maggie and my Bethy, all our friends and family. You found them all once before, and you can do it again," he declared.

"What, so I can fail them all again? So I can lead them to even more death and destruction? No, they're better off without me," Rick argued.

The old man shook his head with great sadness and he reached out and put his hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"I was never prouder of you than when you stood up to the Governor. You tried, and you reached out the hand of reconciliation…"

"And he cut it off. He killed you, right in front of my eyes, and all those words didn't count for shit. He was too far gone, and after all this, I guess I am too," Rick raged.

The former sheriff's deputy got up from the couch and began to pace around.

"I've made so many bad calls along way, and too many mistakes. Y'know, I sometimes think it woulda been better for everyone if I'd never woken up from that coma," he said.

Hershel let out an unexpected chuckle.

"I might be dead, but I'm not like that wannabe-angel-fellow from _It's A Wonderful Life_. I'm not gonna show you what things would've been like if you had never woken up in that hospital bed. I do think a lot of people who are still alive today wouldn't have been, if not for you," he said.

"And what about all the ones who are dead now, and might still be alive, if not for me?" Rick questioned.

The old man sighed.

"No one's perfect," he said.

The younger man grimaced.

"You are a good man at heart, and none of the others can do what you do, they don't even want to try. You think Shane could've done better? He wouldn't have come back for me at the farm, or cut off my leg to save my life. Daryl's done his best, but he still always thought of you as the leader, and I know he told you so, in his own way. You can come back from this; I know you can, and you will. You and Carl will find the others, and you'll start over," Hershel assured him.

"_Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye_

_shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you:_

_For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh_

_findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened."_

[Matthew 7:7 -8]

Rick slumped back down on the couch.

"I wish I had your faith."

"I'm so sorry for what happened to you," he said.

"Don't be, my troubles are over now. It's me who should be sorry, for all you have yet to endure, but endure you will," Hershel gave him one last warm smile as he rose to his feet.

"Rest well and awaken with hope in your heart. Let that be my legacy to you and the way you can choose to honour me," he said.

Rick nodded, although he still felt shattered, both inside and out. His eyes grew heavy once more and he drifted back into the welcoming blackness. He thought he heard Carl calling out to him, but he sounded far away, and too distant to reach.

"_DAD? WAKE UP, WAKE UP…"_

**The End.**


End file.
